


The Bird That Was a Stone

by Capucine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, DCU (Animated), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Death, Gen, Implied Torture, Morality, Sidekicks, downer ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason children are rarely chosen to fight in most conflicts. In fact, there are several reasons, usually regarding their natural weakness and size, the natural instinct to protect children, and their need to develop in a healthy, safe environment, among others.</p>
<p>So why are these reasons thrown away in the case of young sidekicks?</p>
<p>What if Batman's morally dubious act of taking on a child sidekick backfired horribly? What effect will it have on him and the superhero community at large, especially given that it is in its earlier stages?</p>
<p>One thing's for sure: nothing will ever be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bird That Was a Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda mashed universes a bit. Don't read if you can't handle sad endings, though I would say this is not my saddest ending.
> 
> This is sorta before Batman and Superman became friends, at least in the canon verse.

Dick was all of eleven.

He was lively, cheerful, always getting into everything, a capable crime-fighter—and he was gone.

Only a couple hours before, Dick—Robin, had been on a patrol. He was accompanied by Speedy, who Batman knew was Roy Harper. Roy was all of thirteen, but he'd started the sidekick role not long after Dick, Green Arrow apparently inspired by Batman.

The pair had just been patrolling in a shopping district, intending to take down purse snatchers and such—nothing big or particularly dangerous. Batman had thought at the time it would be good for Dick, that the child had been pushing for more independence of late and that this would be a safe way to let that out.

As safe as being a vigilante ever was.

But when a check in went unanswered, and Green Arrow reported the same from Speedy, they'd both rushed to the district.

Speedy was found, battered and unconscious but alive. His skinny body was splayed against the ground, his lip swollen and his arm bent at a very wrong angle—but he was there.

Dick, Robin, was nowhere. Only the R from his costume had been ripped off and attached to the wall using one of his own birdarangs—a bloody one.

Batman was not stupid enough to insist on looking on his own, despite his rather recent stance as a complete loner. Green Arrow was not his closest ally, but he was there and he was willing to leave Roy at the hospital to look for Dick, though only after being assured that Speedy was not likely to die while he was gone. It had been a pained look on the man's face, to leave behind his ward even temporarily after what had happened, but he obviously knew the stakes.

They had already processed the scene, the blood, by the time that Superman showed up.

Batman did not entirely trust Superman. He did not trust metahumans in general, nor aliens or anyone else who had an unnatural advantage that would be difficult to counter. There was a reason he trusted Green Arrow slightly more, even if he considered the man to sometimes be an idiot.

But he didn't need to absolutely trust Superman right now: he just needed to get Robin back. He needed to protect the boy, and his own feelings on metahumans and the like just didn't matter in the face of that.

Superman looked at the R attached to the wall, and said, “You want me to find Robin? Do you know where I should start?”

It had been at least a half an hour or an hour since Dick had gone missing—there was no knowing for certain, since Roy was unconscious.

Batman held up a playing card, a joker clearly inscribed on it. His teeth clenched as he thought of the grinning psychopath holding his ward hostage, and he said, “I've got an idea.”

He would never admit it, of course, but as Superman searched and he waited uselessly, his heart was pattering in his chest, and his skin was sweating way too much.

They were waiting at the hospital, it being fairly close and Oliver wanting to be with Roy.

The boy looked worse out of costume. His eyes were purpled and black, his gut had such deep bruises that the doctors had to thoroughly check for internal bleeding—and correct it when they found it.

His arm was in a cast up to the shoulder. His lip was cut, still very swollen. He was covered in smaller, more minor bruises and cuts as well.

He looked small. He looked like a child, his fluff of red hair only adding to the effect.

Oliver was clearly in distress, eyeing his ward with a mixture of guilt and pain. He kept reaching out and pushing the teen's already short hair back from his eyes, to readjust the sheets and pillow, and so on—all tiny things that didn't actually help.

Bruce was particularly looking at a thick white bandage on Roy's ankle, the stain of blood already starting to show through.

And he had to wonder: what were they thinking, sending kids into this? The idea that he was wrong on something, some moral or ethical matter, was not one that often occurred to Batman.

But if something happened to Dick... Seeing the way Oliver felt, he knew he would not be able to live down the guilt. He knew that if Dick was hurt, or maimed, or...He could not forgive himself.

In that moment, he wondered if 'the mission'--his crusade—had been worth putting Dick into it. Yes, Dick had wanted to-- _'Please! I just want to help...'_ \--but he was also a nine year old.

_'This is the best! We're the dynamic duo, Batman!'_

A faint smile crept on to Batman's face at that memory, the distaste of being named like circus performers easy to remember, even if he'd let Dick do it.

But that smile was gone quickly. He hated waiting here, knowing that Dick was in danger—but also knowing that it would be pretty useless to use his method of searching while Superman did his. Superman could sweep through a block in an instant. It was like a child 'helping' their mom cook by chopping up vegetables at an agonizingly slow pace—the mom could do it faster, even on top of all she had to do. It only made the child feel useful.

The radio communicator he'd given Superman crackled. “I found him.”

It was terse, no explanation. “Coordinates. Now.”

Superman hesitated, then sighed. “Batman... I'm sorry.” And then he gave the coordinates.

Green Arrow gave a quick glance to Roy, but was already following Batman as the other strode—almost ran—out of the room.

There was no good scenario in which Superman said he was sorry for something he didn't do. There was no good scenario involving Dick that Batman could think of when Superman said those words.

They were there in two minutes.

It was two minutes too long, too agonizing, Bruce's heart pounding in his ribcage, pleading silently with something, anything, to grant that his ward, his grinning, cheery ward, would be all right.

Superman was inside, standing and looking away from the center of the room with his eyes closed. He started to speak, but seemed to lose his voice.

Batman slowly looked towards the center of the room.

The uniform, the red, green, and yellow, was clearly Robin's. But Dick didn't just lay there like that. He didn't stay so still.

Batman wasn't sure if he was breathing as he came closer, taking in the horrible sight.

Dick, his Robin, did not look like Dick at all.

His face was relieved of all color, all life, his limbs splayed on the ground like he'd been thrown there and not moved. His mouth had been cut into a full, Joker smile, and his eyes were still open, mask gone.

They stared, clouded, at the ceiling. They were like glass, not real, and Batman didn't feel anything except a roaring emptiness until he saw the clear tear-tracks down his ward's face.

He sank to his knees, to touch the inhuman thing that had once been his ward—Dick Grayson, Robin, now one of the Joker's many victims.

He was still slightly pliable, but cool.

Batman was not the type to make a sound, even in extreme emotional agony. He just knelt there, his hand on Robin's arm, unable to deal with the twisting, stabbing feeling in his chest or the dizzying lack of reality. His vision seemed to warp in and out of focus, his touch on Robin real and not real.

He thought he heard Green Arrow throw up.

After an eternity of this, he gathered up Robin's body—it was too small, too small to have ever been put through this, the cape uselessly flapping against his knees.

His hands clenched in the fabric, unable to even comprehend all the complexities of the situation, the blame for it, the fact that a child _his child_ , was gone.

He could hear Superman swallow loudly, but not say anything.

Everything after that, for the next three days, was a blur.

Dick Grayson was given a proper funeral, closed-casket. There was nothing to be done to hide the smile carved into his face, and Bruce hadn't wanted Dick to be remembered that way even if everyone knew he had been a Joker victim.

He found out not long after that the Joker had been put out of commission—not killed, but damn close, and permanently damaged—by Superman not long after.

Soon enough, he heard through the grapevine that, though Speedy was making a recovery, he was no longer going to be Speedy. He didn't know yet if that was Green Arrow's choice or Roy's.

He imagined the boy's pain was great, as he and Dick had been fairly close.

He didn't even want to try to comprehend his own pain.

Within a week, Superman had visited him. There was some compassion on his face, but there was also a sternness, a certain amount of stone-cold authoritarian.

“Bruce,” he said.

Bruce just nodded, going through files on another case. The Riddler had started some business that he needed to figure out, and it was a relief to drown himself in case work.

“Bruce, I need you to listen to me, because if I have to say this again—if you need to be reminded—it's not okay.”

Bruce looked up at that, feeling tired. “What is it, Clark?”

Superman said, a slightly threatening look to him, “If you take on another child—if you put another minor in harm's way like this—I will break you. I will make sure you never get another chance to fight crime, much less have a child do it.”

Bruce's shoulders tensed. He glared at his screen, saying brusquely, “Is that all?”

Superman's temper clearly flared, and he snapped, “No, that is not all! When I heard you'd put a nine year old, a damn _nine year old_ , into your twisted vigilantism, I didn't know you very well. I should have done something, because I knew instantly it was wrong. Now, I didn't, and I'll have to live with my share of the responsibility for what happened. But Bruce—you will have to live with the lion's share. You put that kid, that child, in dangerous situations no child, no matter how well-trained, should be in, and it _killed him_.”

Bruce stared stoically at his screen. His mind was shutting down at the unbearable truth, the unbearable accusations. He refused to acknowledge such a thing at all.

Because if he did...he would break. He would not be able to carry on at all.

Superman continued, “I've made all the other heroes aware that any partner or sidekick they take on must be at least a legal adult and fully competent to agree to such a thing. Or I will intervene.”

Batman might have normally bristled at the idea that Superman had made himself the morality police of everyone. He might have normally mentioned something about too much power in the hands of an individual.

But he was numb. He almost didn't care, as long as he didn't have to feel anything, he was going to survive.

“Roy must be upset.”

Superman said, “At least he'll live to adulthood.”

Bruce didn't say anything else, clacking away on the computer, trying to put together the pieces of the Riddler's riddle, grateful for any distraction. Edward Nygma was good for something after all.

Superman must have been glaring at him, but he sighed. “You understand what I said. I'm not giving out warnings in your case, Bruce. The slightest thing, and I will end you.”

Bruce didn't reply.

Superman shook his head, and took off.

The superhero community was dramatically changed by this edict from its most powerful member. Where the practice of sidekicks had caught on somewhat before, it was completely eradicated—or the heroes who did it were eradicated.

Batman survived. He survived in unenviable loneliness, with only Alfred for a true companion.

Roy Harper became an Olympic level archer—and then, the instant he was eighteen, began once again to practice vigilantism.

Batman sometimes wondered how that made Green Arrow feel.

But he didn't really keep in contact with the other heroes at that point, so he didn't know.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I have always thought that child sidekicks are probably pretty morally wrong, if it were realistic, and of course, children are also generally ill-equipped to fight against trained adults anyway.
> 
> So, yeah. I would see Superman as having strong feelings on the issue--he definitely waited til adulthood to take on a superhero career, and he was invulnerable.


End file.
